


His name is Donald

by Radella_Hardwick



Category: Political RPF
Genre: Arguing, F/M, Making Out, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 08:45:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18634753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radella_Hardwick/pseuds/Radella_Hardwick
Summary: This was written for a competition for the Remainiacs podcast, called "FROM TUSK TILL DAWN"They wanted "200 words of sexy Tusk fan fiction" and I came up with these 2100, so I'm posting this here and submitting an extract.





	His name is Donald

He’s not looking at me.

I know it’s the camera that’s stolen his gaze from me – and, when I saw the photo later, he doesn’t look happy about – but I still wish that, on that day when the harsh sun gave no heat, I’d had his gaze to warm me.

I look shorter there than I think I was.

Free of his gaze – our argument interrupted – I obviously didn’t feel the need to draw myself up to my full height. Or, maybe, I felt I could relax without his gaze on me, without him willing me to be the best example of female kind. He has that knack – even now, 20 years later – of inspiring the person or nation to whom he’s speaking to strive to be the best they can be.

I don’t remember what we were arguing about that day, the day the photograph was taken; I don’t remember if he was arguing his principles or Devil’s advocate. I just remember getting smarter and honing my ideas from arguing against him, whether he actually disagreed with me or not. I remember arguments that would start on our way out of lectures at 3 in the afternoon and would still be raging, a dozen topics later, when we stumbled out of the smoke-filled bierkeller at closing time.

I remember his passion.

*~*

Donald was passionate about almost everything; not the flavour of his toothpaste or what we had for dinner but almost everything else. 

Sometimes, we would lose the rest of  our friends. He would get so worked up with what he was saying that he’d go striding off ahead and me – determined to match him in everything and prove myself worthy of his time – I would match his pace.

That’s what happened the night we first slept together. He blames the schnapps but I blame the arguing.

*~*

We left the bierkeller with 6 or 7 others but the girls were only interested in giggling over the boys and the boys were trying to have a conversation about the latest Zanussi film. Donald, on the other hand, only had time for politics and wanted to continue debating the government’ s  renegation  of the August Agreement. I can’t remember what exact point we were arguing about: abolishing the political police, needing more political parties or the duties of a responsible government.

I do know we pulled away from the others – partially because their chatter was distracting, partially because Donald was so fired up  that  he couldn’t express all his passion through his speech and hand gestures. I also know we were headed back towards the four-street neighbourhood where we all lived. I remember finishing my point (whatever that was), coming to a halt and thinking: “he won’t have anything to say to that”.

He stopped, too, and turned those intense eyes on me, looking through to the back of my skull. His lips parted as though to rebut me and, suddenly, I was pressed up against a wall of the house behind me with his mouth on mine.

I can still feel the ghost of his thumb-tip against my ear as he steadied himself against the wall. His other hand slipped inside my coat and slid down my flank until it reached my belt.  He pulled my shirt  out of where I’d tucked it and then his fingers, warm despite the chill of the autumnal night, were gliding over my naked flesh.

*~*

I’m not sure why that first night is so clearly imprinted on my memory – we made it all the way through that winter and three months into spring, after all. Perhaps it was the abrupt change of his wild intensity from politics to love-making and back again, perhaps it was the absurdity of getting back into my room. Whatever the reason, I do remember the sweetness of that first gasp of breath when his mouth left mine for my throat. His warm fingers were still doing magical things to the skin beneath my shirt  but I was still able to think enough to be aware of the danger of our current location.

“Our friends…” I panted. “ … catch up …  soon!” That last word was more a moan as his teeth nipped and his fingers pinched simultaneously.

“My flat,” he grunted, the hand on the wall moving to cradle my skull.

“Too far,” I hissed, pausing in my attempts to denude him of his coat. “ … go to …  mine.”

“What …  the nurses?”

“All out. Only–” As suddenly as I had found myself against the wall, I  found myself  entirely devoid of his touch. Donald was on the other side of the pavement, shrugging his coat back into place. I had to laugh; he looked so proud and unrumpled, while I was a flustered mess. I pulled my hair entirely loose and then stepped away from the wall to take the hand he was holding out to me. Our fingers interlaced and we started along the row of a dozen front-doors we had to pass before reaching the one guarded by my dragon of a landlady.

“You’re wrong, you know,” said the young man I had been beginning to think of as mine. “Kania isn’t interested in encouraging free enterprise; they haven’t relaxed controls on private property.” I probably would have remained rooted to the spot, my mouth hanging open, if Donald hadn’t had a-hold of my hand and tugged me after him. By the time I’d caught up with him, however, I had my riposte ready and so we debated fiscal policy until we reached my  front-door . I sent Donald off, with a brief kiss, to hop the back gate and climb onto the roof of the outhouse, from which he should be able to reach my bedroom window.

“ Izolda , is that you?” quavered the landlady as I closed the door as silently as I had opened it.

“Yes,  pani  Chromy-Smolarek.”

“None of the other girls are home yet,” she sniffed, disapprovingly.

“No,  pani Chromy-Smolarek ,” I sighed and came fully into the parlour to answer her properly. “Urszula has gone home to her family for a few weeks; it’s her brother’s wedding ,  starting  this  Friday.”  This was greeted, as it had been the previous six  times  we’d told her, with a tut of disapproval at neglecting one’s studies for so long, tempered by a sigh of appreciation at  Urszula ’s filial obedience. “And Faustina is working a night-shift at the hospital.”

“She’s a good girl,” creaked the landlady, giving her chair a particularly vehement rock.

“ Jolenta _ said _  she was going to the library and then a Party meeting.”

“So, why are  _ you _  home before her?” she demanded, narrowing her eyes at me.

“I don’t go to Party meetings; I’m with the Solidarity.”

“Is  _ that _  why your shirt is untucked?” she sneered. I froze; I had forgotten about the shirt.

“No, it was just very warm in the  bierkeller , so I–”

“What is one of my good girls doing in a  bierkeller ?!” the dumpy old lady demanded, writhing as though she would get up from her chair.

“ _ Am _  I a good girl? I thought good girls studied nursing, not history. I  thought good girls  didn’t get involved with workers striking against the government.”

“They don’t!” she sneered. “Get to bed,  Izolda . At least you can’t get into any trouble asleep!”

*~*

I’m not sure, even now, how I got out of there and up the stairs without bursting into laughter, considering what we were intending to get up to in that bed. As soon as I opened my bedroom door, I was greeted by the sight of Donald crouched on the outhouse roof, his knees pointing off to either side like a frog. He began gesticulating his incredulity at the time it had taken me to get from the  front-door  to my bedroom before I had so much as switched on the light. I crossed to the window and pushed up the bottom half. Donald launched himself through the aperture with such force that we both landed on the floor, him on top of me. The thud of us hitting the floor made was enough to have the landlady shrieking my name.

“Sorry,  pani Chromy-Smolarek ,” I  called back, my lungs still compressed under the weight of Donald’s chest as he’d ignored my nonverbal prompts to move. “Someone didn’t lay a sheet under the bath. I slipped on the water.” This time, I had to bite into the shoulder of  Donald’s  coat to keep myself from laughing. It only got worse when she started invoking the saints and he propped himself up on one hand, so he could make the sign of the cross over me. “Let me up,” I asked, once I’d conquered my silent laughter.

“No,” he growled into my ear, his chest pressed flush against mine again. “I think I like you where you are.” The tip of his tongue then trailed around the outside edge of my ear, making me shiver. “Are  you  cold?”

“No,” I whispered back and he frowned. I pulled him down, so I could talk into his ear. “She has excellent hearing but a terrible memory.”

“Hope you’re not a screamer, then,” he said before restarting his ministrations on my neck. I felt the edge of teeth as he sucked a pocket of my flesh into his mouth. I groaned at the idea of having a mark that everybody would see and ask about, and grabbed his head by the hair to drag his mouth up to mine. While my tongue delved into his mouth, his hands dove under my shirt. He had my bra clasp undone before we broke the kiss. I levered myself off the floor, forcing him to slide back, so he was straddling my legs, not my waist. I shoved his coat down his arms and he then wriggled free of it before wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me into a sitting position, so he could slide my coat off.

We continued to trade items of clothing until we were both naked from the waist up. I managed to press him into my desk-chair, so I could unlace each boot. For some reason, cupping his  besocked  heel as I drew off his boot felt much more sensual than having my tongue in his mouth earlier had. I tugged a sock gently away from the big toe underneath and then gripped the now-empty fabric as I drew  off  the rest. Once the foot was bare, I pressed a kiss to the arch and another onto his instep before turning to his other foot to repeat the process. However, I didn’t get as far as kissing the  instep  of his second foot as Donald pulled me up to standing height, so he could smash his lips to mine in another burning kiss. He walked us the few steps to the narrow bed and then released me to collapse onto it. He then dropped onto one knee and stripped off my boots and socks but stopped short when he encountered the stockings underneath. He leaned himself over me again, so our noses were almost touching.

“What do I do about these?” he hissed, trailing a toe along the  instep  of one stockinged foot.

“Trousers off first,” I told him with a smirk. I don’t think he liked my smirk as he stole my lips with his own, although he simultaneously unbuttoned and unzipped my trousers. He abandoned my mouth to kneel back down on the floor and pull them off. I heard him catch his breath as my suspenders were revealed and I wondered if he had previously only tumbled a girl in the summer months. His tawny head bent and he kissed my inner thigh, making me writhe. I felt his lips, still pressed against my flesh, curve into a smirk of his own. He turned his head to kiss my other thigh and I felt the scrape of his faint stubble against my delicate skin.  I squirmed and he finished pulling off my trousers. He made quick work of the clips and then slid the nylon down my leg slowly, causing the soft hairs to prickle with its passage. He reached for my suspender-belt next but I got to the one holding up his trousers first. We wrestled for a few minutes – catching at each other’s lips to distract them from what our fingers were doing – but, soon enough, we were both naked and lying in my narrow bed. I left a trail of kisses along his sternum and stomach. Then, it was my turn suck a pocket of his flesh into my mouth.


End file.
